No Shirt, No Shoes
by Hanz the Bunny
Summary: Trying to drown his problems in a bottle of vodka was for cowards. But then again, maybe he was a coward – who was in love with the same woman as his little brother. Great. DARe


Title: No shirt, no shoes…

Pairing: DARe (Don Amita Relationship)

Rating: T

Summary: Trying to drown his problems in a bottle of vodka was for cowards. But then again, maybe he was a coward – who was in love with the same woman as his little brother. Great.

A/N: I love Don. He's hot. Please review! It's mucho appreciated:)

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this fic. Sniff. Why do people have to make things so darn difficult? C'est _stupide!_

* * *

_**No shirt, no shoes…**_

This wasn't like him.

Trying to drown his problems in a bottle of vodka at two in the morning was for cowards. But then again, maybe he was a coward. Don glared at the bottle in his hands with distaste, and yet, he took another swig and relished in the burn he received as it ran through his throat and into his stomach. Maybe, if he could focus on something physical he might be able to wipe away the imprinted image of Amita from his mind.

So far, he was having no such luck. Her chocolate eyes still stared at him, her silky river of hair still begged to feel Don's fingers run through it – or his fingers begged, he wasn't sure and frankly, didn't care – and her oh so kissable lips taunted him endlessly and mercilessly.

Was this how he was destined to live his life? In love with that same woman as his little brother? Right about now, it was what he deserved. He had no right to feel this way about Charlie's girl, if she was his girl. Don felt the hope rising and quickly squelched it with another gulp. Even if Charlie and Amita weren't an 'item', there was no way he could make a move on her, not after the history she and Charlie shared. Well, he supposed he _could_, just shouldn't – or wouldn't. What the heck was the difference anyway? One thing was for sure, with his current state of mind, or lack thereof, wasn't fit or even capable of deciphering one from the other.

Shit. That's was this was. Pure, unaltered, stomach-curdling shit. He sighed.

The song changed in the dimply-lit atmosphere to a man that sounded like he was almost as drunk as Don. Nobody seemed to notice the obvious lack of talent, but it was a safe bet that the few other people in the bar had had just as much to drink as he, if not more.

He finished off the bottle and slapped down a twenty on the counter, attempting a wave to the bartender who looked curiously and – Don hated it, but – worriedly at him as he stood, then swayed. "Maybe you should call a cab, man," the balding man suggested.

"I'm fine." He grumbled and swaggered out of the nearly empty bar and towards his car. After fighting with his seatbelt for a full five minutes, he gave up and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life and he began to drive out of the gravel parking lot. He managed without incident but when he reached the street, Don forgot which way he needed to turn to get home. Where was home, anyway?

Fifty-fifty chance so…he drove over the curb as he turned left onto the nearly dead street. Ten minutes later, he was actually still alive, and much to Don's delight, he had only driven onto the sidewalk, maybe, two…three times? If he was honest with himself, he would have realized it was more likely that he had only driven on the _road_ two or three times. He felt his palms become sweaty as a squad car appeared in the rear-view mirror. He straightened and directed all his attention to the street ahead of him as the car neared but realized that his lights weren't flashing and his siren was blaring, so he relaxed. A bit.

The black-and-white passed. Don turned right here, and left there, only because he felt like it and before long found himself in another parking lot. He wrestled with the door handle before noting the door was locked. He unlocked it and got out of the car, accidentally leaving it running.

He stood in front of a beach, and unlike the lot, it was illuminated only by the full moon dangling lazily in the sky. Don took a few steps forward and promptly tripped over the rope that hung at his knees between two wooden posts. He fell flat against the sand and quickly righted himself, brushing off his sapphire button-up shirt and dark jeans.

The sound of small waves falling against the shore became clearer as he made his way further down the beach. But that wasn't what took his attention. It was the confused voice from behind him. "Don?"

He spun around and froze. "Amita?" His right foot caught on his left and he collapsed to the ground with a grunt. She was instantly kneeling beside him, peering at him enquiringly.

"Don, are you alright?"

"Ohh," he groaned. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He rubbed his forehead.

"You don't…look fine."

"Yeah, don't worry 'bout it. Jus a li'l lightheaded." He fell flat on his back.

"Are you _drunk_?" Amita asked incredulously.

"Naaaaaaw," he waved her accurate assumption off. Don whistled as he looked up at the sky that rarely seemed to be filled with stars. "Look a' that."

She didn't seem too inclined to follow his slurred order. "Don, we need to get you home."

"Home?" He glanced at her with uncharacteristically wide eyes.

"Yes, you do remember where you live, right?" She struggled against a grin, prevailing by the luck of the draw.

"Uhh…" He pointed up, "Hey, look! A shooting star – make a wish." He shut his eyes as tight as they would go.

Her haunches began to burn so she resorted to sitting flat on her butt. "Oh god," she groaned. "He's three years old."

"Lie down." He didn't give her time to deviate from his plan and grabbed an arm, yanking her down beside him. In his drunken state, Don didn't notice Amita stiffen as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Isn' it beautiful?"

She swallowed and folded her arms across her stomach. "Uh-huh" was all that she could manage. "Umm, Don, don't you think that we should get you home?"

"I think…I'm gonna throw up," he said in a strained voice and quickly turned to his side – away from Amita, thank goodness – and retched into the sand, pulling his arm from under her neck.

She stood and braced her feet, and when he finished, she mustered all the strength she had and, grasping his forearm she hauled him to his feet. He almost toppled over again, but Amita manage to keep him up by throwing his arm over her shoulders again. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home," she said through tight lips.

He mumbled something indiscernible but from what she gathered from his defiant tone she knew what he was trying to say

"You can barely walk – how do you plan on driving?"

"At least take my car."

Amita glanced over and instantly found it. "The one that's parked half-way off the actual parking lot?" _Half way there._ "Alright, besides, if we keep it there it'll probably get towed by morning." She managed to get them to his vehicle and threw open back passenger door, fairly throwing Don inside. She walked around the hood and got in the driver's side. "You okay back there?" she asked over her shoulder.

Her answer was Don's deep snoring.

* * *

_Why does my pillow smell like strawberries?_

Don opened his eyes slowly against the bright light. He looked around and found himself in a unarguably female room. The bed was probably the most comfortable one he'd ever been in, and the pale yellow blankets were soft against his skin.

_Wait - why don't I have a shirt on?_

His headache made itself aware to Don and he groaned inwardly. The sound of a door opening reached his ears, just before soft footsteps followed. The scent of strawberries wafted through the room and the answer to his first question came – it wasn't his pillow. It was Amita's. And her bed. Don could hear drawers slowly being opened and closed, then there was a soft bang and she swore under her breath. Struggling not to laugh he pretended to be asleep, but when he figured she was at the doorway, he chanced a peek.

He was glad he did. Amita's hair was dripping wet and all she wore was a black towel – a _tiny_ black towel, she was holding a small pile of clothes and favouring her right foot. Apparently she had stubbed her toe. She quietly closed the door behind her without looking back and left Don alone again. He turned his head to where she came from and saw the bathroom, the mirrors still fogged up. Just the thought of Amita taking a steaming shower and only a wall separating them nearly erased the pounding in his head.

He pushed back the covers and swung his jean-clad legs over the side of the bed. He was barefoot. He would have laughed if the mental picture of her showering would leave him alone. Don stood – without falling over – and stretched. His shoes were at the foot of the bed but his socks weren't with them, and his shirt was nowhere in sight. He shrugged and, dragging his feet, he walked into the bathroom, flicking the light on.

His dark hair was dishevelled and he saw the beginnings of a beard already appearing. On the counter there was a toothbrush still in its package, toothpaste, deodorant – for _men­_ – and a towel, much like Amita's, except this one was pink.

Hot pink.

He picked it up and saw the note that was resting on it. It read: _Serves you right for getting wasted._ Don grinned to himself and chuckled. After showering and brushing his teeth, he put on the same clothes – almost tempted to only wear the pick towel around his waist and see Amita's expression – and walked to where he figured the kitchen would be.

It turned out he was right. Amita was leaning against the island with her back towards him. She was sipping from a steaming mug of what Don figured was probably coffee.

"Hi."

She visibly jumped and spun around, then jumped again when she saw he was wearing nothing but jeans. Nice, snug fitting jeans that simply begged to be torn off and discarded. Amita cleared her throat, "Hi. Sleep good?"

Don scratched the back of his head. "Uh-huh. Umm, where's my shirt?"

"Oh, yeah. You kinda got vomit all over it so I washed it."

"Ahh." He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops.

"It's hanging over the chair," she jerked her head towards the dining table.

"Thanks." He took a few long strides and pushed his arms through the sleeves, then began buttoning it. Amita would never admit it, but she hated him for putting it on and at the same time worshiped him for leaving it open at the chest.

"You want some coffee?" she offered.

"Yeah, that'd be great." She walked over to the coffee maker and Don immediately took note of her small limp. "Stubbed your toe?"

"What?" Amita glanced over her shoulder as she began to pour the drink into a mug. "Oh, yeah." She didn't feel to interested in telling him that she did so while staring at him sleeping in her bed.

"Come here."

"Hmm?"

He pulled out a chair. "Sit."

"What?"

"I'm giving you a foot massage. Sit."

"Oh." She sat.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes."

He knelt down on one knee in front of her and took her foot in his hands. Don began to knead. "Do you plan on giving me more than one-word answers in the near future?"

"I dunno."

"Two words! We have a record," he announced with a wide grin as he began to roll his fingers around each toe. Her response was a scowl that lasted a mere three seconds after being faced with Don's disarming smirk and smiling eyes. His fingers skimmed the bottom of her foot and it jerked. He gasped in horror, "What have we here? Amita's _ticklish_?"

"No," she whispered weakly. He grazed over the sole and she screeched. "Please…" She struggled to speak against the laughs that were racking her body.

"I want five words. No less."

"Quit tickling my feet…please."

He paused for a moment and regarded her curiously. "Alright." Don's hands simply slid higher to her calves. His fingers spread over the smooth skin.

Amita was abruptly aware that she was wearing a skirt – a short skirt. She shot up from the chair but he still had a grip on her leg and promptly fell into his lap. She looked at Don and was taken aback by how close he was. She could feel his breath brush over her lips, her leg tingled where his strong, manipulating hand still rested.

"Why are you holding your breath?"

"I'm…not." Amita tried to remove herself from his hold, God knew she did, but his damn eyes wouldn't let her.

His head lowered a fraction as he whispered, "Yes you are."

It felt as if something – or someone – had taken over her body. Her head inclined and Don slipped a hand to the base of her neck. Hot shivers ran down her spine, then back again and seemed to flood into his fingers and through his arm. "Don…" Whatever she had planned on saying was lost – his mouth barely touched hers but they each felt it in the core. He hovered over her, waiting.

Amita struggled to form a thought other than 'I want you I want you I want you' but came up short. So instead of thinking she folded her arms around Don's neck and fully participated in an engaging and quickly intensifying kiss. His fingers wrapped around her waist and he supported her weight as he stood and pinned her between him and the counter. Her receptive skin felt every graze of his fingertips.

She lowered her arms and squirmed against him, trying to fit her hands between them in order to unbutton his shirt. "You really should stop moving like that," he grumbled over the dip in her throat.

"And if I don't?" Her lips encased his earlobe and pulled gently.

"I just might take you right now in your kitchen floor." Don nicked at her skin with his teeth.

A certain pressure became very evident against her body and that was proof enough that he wasn't making an idle threat. Amita's lips explored his neck thoroughly while asking, "Do me one favour?"

"It depends."

"On what?" she fought to speak when his hands slid not higher like she expected, but lower, just below the top of her skirt.

His eyes bore holes into hers as he massaged her hips. "Does it involve you naked?"

Her breaths came out in jagged gulps. "It could be part of a chain reaction, yes."

"Alright ma'am. I'm at your mercy."

"I love this shirt, it's really great. I want it on the floor."

Don couldn't help but grin at her, but he didn't move to follow her command. "You first."

"That wasn't the deal, Agent Eppes."

"I'm negotiating." His fingers splayed wide over her butt cheeks and he pulled her greedily against him. "Before you argue, I suggest that you consider the fact that I'm willing to fight for dominance."

"Hmm," Amita's head tipped to one side. "That's funny."

"Why is that?"

"So am I." Her hands swiftly moved to his hips, turned him around so he was against the island and held him there. "Now, about that shirt."

"So the true Amita comes out," he mused as he unbuttoned and dropped his shirt. His muscled flexed beneath her tantalizing touch as her delicate hands roamed his hard stomach and chest curiously. With a great effort, Don managed to control his breathing when they slid to his sides and back to link behind his neck. She stood on her tiptoes and dropped small kisses along his collarbone and then planted her lips firmly on his.

His fingers found their way back to her buttocks and lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. After bumping into walls numerous times due to a pair of ferociously powerful lips incessantly descending on his mouth, they finally arrived at the foot of her unmade bed and Don's shins caught the edge of the low mattress. He fell forward and straddled her waist, bracing himself with one arm folded above her head while the other pushed her shirt up until she peeled it off the rest of the way herself.

Don's hand nearly covered her entire abdomen where butterflies gathered like flies to honey. "You do highly disturbing things to me." He lingered over her moist lips.

"Likewise." Amita let out a weak cry when his mouth dragged lower and paid special attention to her bellybutton. Long, lean fingers pushed her skirt up to her hips and slid up and down her inner thigh.

The vague sensation of nails digging ruthlessly into his back registered. She seemed to realize that she might be causing him pain, so Amita made use of herself by unbuttoning his jeans instead. Little did she know the consequences – although quite pleasurable ones – would be much higher. And more exhausting.

* * *

Don rolled off of Amita who was still having difficulties breathing properly and draped an arm above his head. He released a long, deep breath and turned his head to look at the flushed woman beside him. It would appear that she was refusing to meet his eyes. "Look at me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm afraid if I do that you'll disappear and I'll wake up to realize this was all just some torturous dream."

"Do dreams come this good?"

She paused, then turned over to her side towards him and smiled faintly. "I suppose not."

"Although I have to say the one I had about you last night was pretty darn close," he grinned.

"Don!" Amita gasped.

"You had on this little black lacy nightgown that might as well have not been there-"

"You're horrible!"

"Oh yeah? What'd you dream about last night?"

She blushed furiously and mumbled something incoherent, nervously playing with her hair between her fingers.

"What?" he prodded teasingly.

"I said 'you'."

His smirk became devious. "Hypocrite."

"Womanizer."

"Gorgeous."

"You can't do that!"

He inched nearer. "Sexy." Don slipped his hand behind her head and swung one knee around to the other side of her hips.

"Cheater."

"Delicious," he grumbled, kissing each edge of her lips, then her nose and eyelids.

"Womanizer."

"You said that already." Five fingers memorized the feel of her stomach.

"I can't…concentrate with you around."

"I thought your concentration was wonderful a few minutes ago, and that was for how long? Two hours?"

"Three," she corrected absently after a glance at the alarm clock. "Shouldn't you…ahh…Don, stop that." He stopped his trail of kisses that began at her throat and was gradually moving downward. Amita reconsidered. "No, don't stop."

That earned her another one of his irresistible smiles. "Shouldn't I what?"

"Be at work?"

"I have the day off." He continued path, to what Don reasoned was heaven.

"I don't think I can take anymore teasing, Don."

"Round two already?"

"Don…"

"It'd be my pleasure."

**_A/N: _i hope you enjoyed! please review! thanks a bunch:)**


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